Post by Nagisa on Jun 6, 2016 8:08:18 GMT -5
A heavy full moon in a starless sky, its pale light illuminating an endless wasteland, sand as far as the eye can see. Only occasionally did dead trees, bleached and dried, making them appear more like bones, jut through the sands, sad remnants and reminders of the fact that no life lasted long in Hueco Mundo. And yet, standing atop a dune, overlooking the desolate place Nagisa found a strange solace. It was quiet here, neigh peaceful. Doubtlessly being near the top of the food chain helped her dearly in keeping it that way, as did the fact that her Reiatsu read as Hollow and not as Shinigami. Crouching to let a fistful of the fine white sand run through her fingers the Chinda felt a melancholy settle in, felt it draped around her shoulders like a comfortable and well worn coat. Rising abruptly she took a few steps to the sides and shuddered in disgust. The fact that it had taken so little to make her feel comfortable in what ought to be hell made her sneer, and for the sixth time since she had arrived Nagisa reached for her face to ensure that her mask was still in place. So comfortable had she grown with the white piece of porcelain that it served to ensure the Chinda that she was still in disguise – and to remind herself that she should never grow too comfortable. Katsumi was quiet and complacent for now, the accommodation of her personality in the inner world Nagisa had created calming her considerably, but she would never forget the predatory smile and the hunger that lived inside the crimson eyes of the Pale Lady.
Adverting her face in reflex as a gust of wind whirled up sand and bellowed her coat behind her, revealing for a moment not a Shinigami’s usual attire but a tightly fit uniform more akin to what operatives of the second division wore. Wrapping her coat around herself to protect her skin from the grating sand the Chinda set her eyes on the ruins to the east. She felt a few Hollow’s there and silently prayed that one amongst them would be strong and intelligent enough to answer her questions. The previous ones had not. Or perhaps Nagisa was asking the wrong questions, because as she traversed the distance the Chinda one again struggled with the formulation of her inquiries. She was looking for Jasper Aizawa, or whatever he had become now. She had a picture of his, several even, yet having never seen her after his fall Nagisa was unsure how correct the depiction still laws. The only one who had a clear image of his Reiatsu as well as visage was Hazuki, the last person likely to cooperate with Nagisa.
It was a futile endeavor and she knew it. Finding a needle in a haystack was a more likely to happen then encountering her former captain and friend the desserts of Hueco Mundo, and yet Nagisa couldn’t help herself but want to try. Not so much for his sake, but her own. Jasper Aizawa had been an exemplary Shinigami, a man of extraordinary martial and mental prowess and yet he had succumbed to his Inner Hollow after having dominated, perhaps even domesticated, it years prior. How and why that happen Nagisa had to know. One day her own sanity might depend on it.
“A pity,” the Chinda said and tossed the demon into the sand, black blood being soaked up greedily by the sand. “Another failure. That makes four today and leaves one more before its time to go back.” Turning this way and that way to orient herself and pinpoint where next to go Nagisa suddenly stopped. There was another presence close by, closing in, in fact. One she hadn’t felt in a long time and yet still remembered. Where and when had she first encountered this? Wasn’t it…it had been Karakura Town, hadn’t it? On her very first mission. She let out curt laughter. What an odd reunion that was going to be. Then again, he had been an old soul, hadn’t he? Perhaps he knew. Or at least knew more than the headless Hollows surrounding her.
700
Adverting her face in reflex as a gust of wind whirled up sand and bellowed her coat behind her, revealing for a moment not a Shinigami’s usual attire but a tightly fit uniform more akin to what operatives of the second division wore. Wrapping her coat around herself to protect her skin from the grating sand the Chinda set her eyes on the ruins to the east. She felt a few Hollow’s there and silently prayed that one amongst them would be strong and intelligent enough to answer her questions. The previous ones had not. Or perhaps Nagisa was asking the wrong questions, because as she traversed the distance the Chinda one again struggled with the formulation of her inquiries. She was looking for Jasper Aizawa, or whatever he had become now. She had a picture of his, several even, yet having never seen her after his fall Nagisa was unsure how correct the depiction still laws. The only one who had a clear image of his Reiatsu as well as visage was Hazuki, the last person likely to cooperate with Nagisa.
It was a futile endeavor and she knew it. Finding a needle in a haystack was a more likely to happen then encountering her former captain and friend the desserts of Hueco Mundo, and yet Nagisa couldn’t help herself but want to try. Not so much for his sake, but her own. Jasper Aizawa had been an exemplary Shinigami, a man of extraordinary martial and mental prowess and yet he had succumbed to his Inner Hollow after having dominated, perhaps even domesticated, it years prior. How and why that happen Nagisa had to know. One day her own sanity might depend on it.
“A pity,” the Chinda said and tossed the demon into the sand, black blood being soaked up greedily by the sand. “Another failure. That makes four today and leaves one more before its time to go back.” Turning this way and that way to orient herself and pinpoint where next to go Nagisa suddenly stopped. There was another presence close by, closing in, in fact. One she hadn’t felt in a long time and yet still remembered. Where and when had she first encountered this? Wasn’t it…it had been Karakura Town, hadn’t it? On her very first mission. She let out curt laughter. What an odd reunion that was going to be. Then again, he had been an old soul, hadn’t he? Perhaps he knew. Or at least knew more than the headless Hollows surrounding her.
700
